


Olive You

by acedott



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/M, Fluff, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27161038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acedott/pseuds/acedott
Summary: Another life, a simpler life, where they can be happy.
Relationships: Hannah Grose/Owen Sharma
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	Olive You

**Author's Note:**

> These two deserved a happy ending and so (as soon as I finished crying) I wrote them one.

“I'm just saying, he's an idiot,” Owen repeated for about the fifth time that day as he kneaded the bread dough.

Hannah sighed. “You've mentioned as much.”

“And I'll say it again! He just up and left _you_ , Hannah Grose, for what, some blonde?” He scoffed disdainfully. “The stupidest thing I've ever heard. He doesn't deserve the candle you just lit for him.”

“Really, Owen, I don't want to talk about it.”

He took note of the serious tone of her voice. “Alright, I'll drop it.” A smile pulled at his lips and he looked up at her. “I _knead_ to put this in the oven anyway.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't suppress the laugh that followed it. “Not your best work.”

“But it made you laugh,” he rebuffed. “Anything that makes you laugh is well worth it.”

Hannah pressed her lips together to hide her smile and turned her attention back to sweeping the kitchen.

“Today's his birthday, you know,” she said suddenly. “He turns 50 today.”

Owen turned around from putting the bread in the oven. 

“We had plans. We agreed we’d go to Spain for his 50th, then France for mine. We had plans, and he just…”

“I know,” Owen said quietly. “I'm sorry. I know you miss him.”

“But I don't, not really, not anymore. At first, of course. Then I was furious for a while. But now I'm just...hurt. He said he loved me. Swore before God he would stand by my side no matter what. But the second some blonde young thing came along-” she snapped her fingers. “Like none of it ever mattered. Like _I_ never mattered.”

“You know that's not true. You have to know that you matter a hell of a lot to-” He cut himself off. “To everyone here. I don't know what - what we’d do without you around.”

“I'm sure Jamie could sweep a floor if she tried,” Hannah responded sardonically. 

“That's not what I mean. You're a stellar housekeeper, yeah, but you're so much more than that. You're kind, and strong, and you make every room you're in brighter.” He looked at her desperately and with a startling clarity, she finally heard what he was really saying. What he had been saying all along. “Anyone would be lucky to stand by your side, Hannah.”

“Owen, I -” The words caught in her throat. How could she put words to a feeling she had only just realized? Today, of all days, to realize this wonderful, eccentric man had made his way into a heart she'd thought had closed off forever. The last person who she’d loved and let in had run off, and she was terrified of it happening again.

His face fell. “Don't worry about it. I'll get out of your hair. I need to get some ingredients from town anyway. Flora insisted on lemon poppy seed muffins for breakfast tomorrow, Lord knows why.” He gave her a weak, strained smile. “I'll _seed_ you later.”

Hannah watched his retreating back and felt a different terror. Being left again was one thing, but being left with a love unexpressed was a new torture she didn't want to face.

“Owen,” she called without consciously deciding to. He turned around, hopeful and despondent at the same time.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. 

“Yes, love?” He said it like a caress, even now, and she wondered how she had never noticed before.

“I-” Unable to bring herself to say the words, she cast her eyes about the kitchen wildly, and spotted a jar of olives on the counter. 

A thought occurred to her. Hadn't he had been saying how he felt, without actually saying it, this whole time? Perhaps she could do the same.

Hannah walked to the counter to grab the olive jar and placed it in his hand before she could lose her nerve. “ _Olive_ you, Owen. I suppose I always have.” She was proud that her voice only shook a little.

He looked at her in disbelief for a moment before a grin slowly spread across his face, beautiful as the sun. Moving slowly in this precious, fragile moment, Owen gently took her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “ _Olive_ you, too,” he whispered against her hand, looking deeply into her eyes. He slowly lowered her hand, but didn’t let go. Then again, she hadn’t let go either.

She lifted her other hand to smooth away a lock of hair from his forehead and trailed down his face, resting finally on his cheek. He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully, and something inside her snapped. To hell with Sam, and to hell with everyone who had ever made her feel unworthy of wanting anything. She deserved the world, she realized, starting with this beautiful man right in front of her.

She raised herself up lightly on her toes and kissed him. A chaste, feather-light brush of her lips on his was all, but it drew tears from his eyes.

“Owen, I’m so sorry, did I-?”

“No,” he assured her, chuckling wetly. He took both of her hands in his. “No, you’re perfect. _This_ is perfect. I just never thought this would happen, is all.”

She reached up to wipe his tears away, relishing the way his eyes fluttered closed again. She was going to take full advantage of that reaction at some point very soon, but not just yet. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“I would have waited my entire life for you, Hannah Grose,” he said seriously. His lips twitched into a smile. “Though I’m glad I didn’t have to wait quite that long.”

She laughed, clear and loud, not holding anything back. He looked at her like she was the 8th wonder of the world, and really, how could she not kiss him again? This time was deeper, and they both clung to each other. She held his arms and felt a flash of appreciation for his refusal to use a mixer after all, if it made his biceps feel like that. Owen cupped her head tenderly, getting bits of flour and dough on her cheeks, but she couldn't have cared less. 

They eventually had to break apart to breathe. Unable to contain his joy, he picked her up by the waist and spun her around. She laughed again and shoved gently at his shoulders. “Owen! Put me down!”

“Nope, never,” he grinned, continuing to spin her.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?” Jamie asked knowingly as she walked into the kitchen.

Owen gently set Hannah down, who had to grab his arm to regain her balance. She held on for just a touch longer than was necessary. “Nothing at all. It's just a good day,” she responded breathlessly, still smiling.

Jamie's face said she clearly didn't believe that. “You've got some dough on your face, Hannah. And flour, too.”

She wiped at it ineffectually. 

“Well, I think you look-”

“Don't start,” Jamie groaned.

“A- _dough_ -rable,” Owen finished proudly.

Jamie rolled her eyes and walked back out to the gardens. 

“Ridiculous,” Hannah chuckled.

“You love it though,” he teased, turning to check on the bread in the oven.

She smiled at him fondly. “Yes, I do,” she murmured.


End file.
